Thursday, May 18, 2006

Thinking: a most dangerous undertaking

Things pingin' around all that spare room in my skull today:

Chocolate. Aside from Jess' melt-in-your-mouth brownies and the soufflé at Roy's in Baltimore, I don't dig chocolate. Sure, that's not a very girlie thing to admit, but it's the ugly truth. It always annoys me when I see some kind of ice cream I think would be really good, then upon closer inspection I see that the manufacturer has taken a really great flavor and sullied it with enough chocolate to kill all the dogs in town. Ben and Jerry's, I'm lookin' at you: why the fuck did you have to ruin Chunky Monkey with the four pounds of chocolate pieces you put in the pint containers? Why wasn't banana ice cream with walnuts good enough? Makes me think there's a severe lack of imagination when it comes to planning this shit. Read my vanilla fucking lips: not every woman is jonesing for chocolate. Knock it off, you cocksuckers! Make me some banana and peanut butter ice cream, and all will be forgiven.This message brought to you by Katy's PMS.

My days are passing wickedly fast here. I can't believe I've been here over a month now. The cats continue to extend their many greetings from the Welcome Wagon. Even the shyest cats in the house have buddied up to me, including old Eeyore, a cat I saw only on rare occasions when I would come here to visit. Eeyore is probably about 17 years old and doesn't have much tolerance for all the ruckus the other animals - especially the dogs - cause around the house, so he's usually hiding. Lately, he's taken a liking to yowling outside my bedroom door until I get out of bed and let him in, and then nesting in my hair. But he doesn't nestle quietly; he purrs like a little outboard motor, continually butts his head against my face, and stomps all over my hair. It's really quite sweet, but if this keeps up, I will be wearing a wig before the year is out.

If the dogs here were pasta, they would be Tardellini.

I am perhaps the luckiest bitch in the whole wide world. That's true for a number of reasons, but there's one in particular that is making me especially thankful today: I went to the ATM and withdrew some cash today, not a tiny amount, and then went on my merry way to Target. I shopped in a leisurely fashion, as I really have no discernible schedule these days, and there is no reason I can't linger in the shampoo aisle for fifteen minutes if I get the urge. Upon being told the total cost of my purchases, I realized that my trusty girl wallet was not in my girl purse. The cashier offered to suspend the transaction while I went out to the car to fetch my cash; I reasoned that I must've left my wallet on the seat of the car. However, when I reached my Cruiser and looked in the window, my heart sank when my wallet was nowhere to be seen. I opened the driver's door to have a better look, and my heart reversed its sinking motion and shot right up into my throat when I saw my wallet on the ground, outside my car. ON THE GROUND. My throat-bound heart was channeling Gene Krupa as I unzipped the wallet with fingers as shaky as an epileptic at a strobe light convention. Against all logic and my sickened expectations, my cash was all there, my cards were all there - no one had seen it. So if you work at Target, I'll be the weird fucker in shades doin' the happy dance in the parking lot when they show you the best of their security tapes at the Christmas party.

Tuesday, May 16, 2006

From the jaws of death

There are many, many pets here, and I have grown to love them all as if they were my own. Even the rotten ones. *cough*Eleven*cough*

Hermione and Moo like to play both sides of the fence. I am not implying that these lovely Saint Betards are bisexual, though if they were, who the fuck am I to judge? What I'm saying is that one minute they can be the sweetest, cuddliest, most gentle giants you will ever meet. And then the next minute, they can be barking, chewing, chasing cats, shredding cardboard, and peeing at the bottom of the stairs where I will be sure to step in it.

This weekend the dogs alternated between being Jess' cuddle buddies on the bed and being Jess' worst nightmare demons, rampaging through the house with little regard for life, limb, or the mattress that was sitting in the living room.

Finally, on Sunday, Jess could take it no more. When she drove up to her mom's to pick up the boys, she took Moo with her, reasoning that the dogs might behave if only they were not together encouraging each other's evil. Nick was working, so I stayed behind with Hermione, to make sure she didn't terrorize the cats unduly in her mommy's absence.

Hermione was just as docile as could be while Jess was gone. I put the baby gate in the kitchen doorway, so the cats could go up and down the stairs as they pleased while preventing Hermione from chasing them and eating their food. The food, by the way, is up on top of a tallish cabinet; Hermione has discovered that she can stand up on her hind legs and reach the dish without too much effort. She's one tall drink of slobber.

So, once the baby gate was in place, I decided to take a shower. I was alone in the house! I could shower with the door open, then prance through the living room nekkid without fear of traumatizing the teenagers! Hermione came in and laid right up against the tub while I took my shower, then slept in the hallway as I put on makeup. If I were to go to the dictionary and look up "good dog" I'm pretty sure this picture would be included with the description:

When I'd finished getting dressed - somehow, I forgot all about my plans for nekkid olympics in the living room - I went downstairs to throw some laundry in the washing machine. I'd have had to take a giant step to get over the baby gate, and I feared that the tread on my sock monkey slippers would not be enough to keep me from continuing on down the basement steps at a more rapid pace than I would prefer, so I took down the baby gate. Hermione was being so good, I reasoned, that I really needn't worry, especially since I wasn't in the shower anymore.

I was in the laundry room for perhaps two minutes, at most. When I came out, I found that Hermione had followed me downstairs. A quick check revealed cat food still in its dish, so I very nearly began to praise Hermione for being a good girl...then I noticed she was gnawing on something.

If you've never had a pet, you need to know that they will pick up everything you don't want them to, especially if it's small, plastic, and has the ability to choke them when you turn your back for just a split second. This wouldn't be the first time I'd caught Hermione chewing on a foreign object, and I've pried many things from her mouth, including plastic plugs for electrical outlets on more than one occasion.

She is so good about not biting when a person forces her jaws open and digs around, and this time was no exception. Hermione sat patiently while I stuck my whole hand in her mouth and came out triumphant...

...with a well-chewed lump of cat poop!

You have never seen a bitch throw a piece of shit on the floor so fast. I don't remember exactly what I said, but I'm pretty sure it included "GROSS HERMIONE EW EW EW GODDAMMIT THAT IS SOOOOO GROSS GET OUTSIDE EW EW GROOOOOSSSSSS!"

She was allowed no face kisses for the rest of the day because - call me picky - I do not favor the scent of cat poop Tic Tacs.

Wednesday, May 10, 2006

Can't stop talkin' 'bout my monkey

Let me just say this now: I will hate it, absolutely hate it, when I have to go back on a set work schedule. Right now, all the work I'm doing is online, and I can work at whatever time of day I like, and dressed (or not dressed) as I please. I love to log on and work at 2 in the morning, dressed in funky monkey jammies, sock monkey slippers, and a viking helmet; it's truly a liberating experience. Structure will come as a cold, wet slap in the face whenever it happens. Tomorrow it will be four weeks since I moved, so I guess it's probably about time to start dressin' up and shoppin' my resumé around town.

Scheduling appointments is a breeze when one has no preordained time to punch in and out of the office. Now, if you've seen me lately (in the last six months), you know that my hair is out of control on the shaggy side of town. What I need more than anything right now is to get lots and lots of hair cut off, and then have Jess dye it for me, as my color fades fast and my roots are as long as a stately dwarf is tall. So what did I do today? I scheduled a wax. Wrong hair, dumbass! I'm certain no potential employer will request that I drop my pants for a monkey check...and if they do? Then I've certainly applied for the wrong sort of work. I'm not the pole spinner in this family.

I am now on my third waxer. Rumor has it that the other two ran screaming and were last seen clawing their own eyes out with matching crowbars, but really, it's just because I moved. No, really. The hair-ripper today was nice enough, and willing to look at me without pants on, which I find is a real bonus in a waxer.

What the fuck is one supposed to talk about during a wax? I really try to steer the conversation away from the task at hand, because what kind of chatter could that instigate? "My, that's quite a vagina you've got there, ma'am." or "Damn! It's like freakin' steel wool down there!" or "You know, the Pippi Labiastocking tattoo was probably really cute when you were twenty, but now?..." or "OH GOD, IT HAS TEETH!"

Really, the only bit of our conversation I remember is when she had me in a totally awkward and humiliating position in order to reach, ah, stuff, and I told her, "If you should see me on the street sometime? Pretend this never happened."

But enough about my monkey.

I continue to add furniture to my room and shift things out of cardboard boxes, disappointing the cats, who truly love the array of cardboard available to them in here. Baby Nala showed her displeasure Sunday, when I let her previously perfectly well-behaved skinny orange ass in here, only to have her march straight over to my bed, squat, and pee on my comforter while I talked to my mom on the phone. "Yeah, I'm settling in really well, and the cats are really friendly - goddammit, Nala just peed on my damn bed! Just a second, Mom..." Then again, maybe that piss was all about revenge.

When I finish this post, I will be assembling the chair I bought today. It's one of those ergonomic chairs where it has no back; instead, you sit on the back cushion and kneel on the front cushion, sort of like the three-point landings that were strictly forbidden by Dad when we knelt in church (no butt was to touch the pew behind us when we were on the kneeler or else). Here's what it's supposed to look like:

But just between you and me, I'm afraid that this is what it will look like when I'm done:

Gotta go - Livey, Weebs and Wobbles are fighting over the empty chair box. And don't believe any girl who says she doesn't enjoy having three cats fight over her box.

Monday, May 08, 2006

For my next trick...

Should you survive your little dip in the aquarium without oxygen tonight, I have a suggestion for your next stunt, one that would truly thrill me and countless others: please put your head even farther up your own ass than it already is, and then hold your breath for a record-breaking thirty years.

I'm sorry, but dude - your little freak shows just don't do it for me. You want my attention? Bring on some juggling midgets on fire and a flatulent giraffe - that would entertain me more than your public displays of unspectacular masochism.

Saturday, May 06, 2006

Frisk my blog

It's been far too long since I've revealed some of the bizarre and disgusting search terms people use to find my bizarre and disgusting blog. I'm sure you've been on the edge of your collective seats awaiting this post. Or not. Really, though...whaddya want me to do as a follow-up act to King Tut's dick?

labia (note: this is repeated several times throughout my stats)

waxed monkey (note: that reminds me...I need to call the day spa...)

"up my ass" (note: I can't possibly imagine why this would lead people to my completely un-assified site)

cunts (note: what are ya sayin'?)

chicks with dicks (note: isn't that a country band?)

bunny ass (note: furry and tasty)

hairstyles for cotillion (note: I was truly offended by that one)

kielbasa queen (note: no real surprise there, just wanted you to know it's still always on the list, multiple times)

dort highway pimp (note: my secret identity)

barbell nipple (note: that'd be quite a workout)

pornimation (note: I never knew that category existed - sweeet!)

kielbasa swallow (note: aha! A kielbasa variation!)

"sideways ass" (note: wouldn't that sound hilarious if I fell down the stairs naked like in that Cramps song?)

bouffant cap (note: I knew my bouffant obsession would catch up with me sooner or later)

naked captain and tennille (note: for the record, the Captain was never naked here)

teehee monkey video (note: oh, never mind)

18 inch kielbasa (note: maybe I should just put some kielbasa in the masthead next time)

Thursday, May 04, 2006

The royal pee pee...

Of course my interest was piqued. Clearly, someone was playing hide the sausage with the boy pharaoh's tallywhacker. Here was a story I could really sink my teeth into:

"Photographed intact by Harry Burton (1879-1940) during Howard Carter's excavation of Tut's tomb in 1922, the royal penis was reported missing in 1968, when British scientist Ronald Harrison took a series of X-rays of the mummy."

All I can picture here is this guy in 1922 with a camera going "Gor blimey, looka the sausage on that feller!" And who couldn't love the phrase "the royal penis"? Rolls off the tongue easier'n nonstick jizz. I wonder what Harrison said, exactly, when he reported it missing in 1968? Was there an all-points bulletin for one purloined penis, Egyptian, medium build, last seen wearing a cartouche with hieroglyphics that read, roughly translated, "Just 'cause I'm dead don't mean you ain't gotta suck it"? Did anyone suspect that it might have escaped all on its own? And was the nutsack gone, too?

This kind of story always leaves me with more questions.

"Speculation abounded that the penis had been stolen and sold.

'Instead, it has always been there. I found it during the CT scan last year, when the mummy was lifted. It lay loose in the sand around the king's body. It was mummified,' Zahi Hawass, chief of Egypt's Supreme Council of Antiquities, told Discovery News."

So...why was it reported missing? Was Harrison perhaps expecting to see a more pronounced staff on the pharaoh? Is there a market for errant Egyptian dead guy dick? And who the fuck looks at a mummy's penis?

"At first look, Burton's pictures may seem to indicate that King Tut could have been a little better endowed. But according to mummy expert Eduard Egarter Vigl, the pharaoh was normally built."

Now they're not only looking at the mummy's penis, they're passing judgement on the size of it when royal blood coursed through the royal vein. What kind of people obsess over a mummy's penis?

Well, you can put me on the list. And I don't buy for a minute that Tut was endowed any less than the Sphinx.

How the fuck did they get the sarcophagus closed?

Now I understand that it's not a beard on his chin - it's a condom.

And where would we be without some pharaoh on pharaoh love? See Tut suck. Suck, Tut, suck!